Break Away (The Baltimore Banners Book 5) (5 page)

"She's not even your type, JP."

"What do you even know about my type?"

Mat cocked a brow, his expression screaming disbelief. "Your type is quick and loose, preferably with no names exchanged. Trust me, that woman is not a puck bunny. Therefore, she's not your type."

JP shot him a dirty look then continued making his way down the bleachers. Mat had no idea what he was talking about, none at all. He didn't know him, not really. Just because he had a reputation didn't mean he wasn't interested in a relationship.

The lie lodged in his throat like a slice of lemon, sour and suffocating. JP swallowed past it and kept going, focused only on catching up to Emily, focused on just talking to her.

He rounded the corner and headed toward the small concession stand, then stopped short. Emily was standing in line, a smile on her face as she talked to a man next to her. The full smile lit her eyes, creating a sparkle he could see even from this distance. Her head tilted to one side as she listened to whatever the man was saying. Her honey blonde hair, lush and full, drifted over her shoulder, catching the light from the too-bright fluorescent lights above her. The harsh lights should have made her hair look washed out but instead, it shimmered like ancient gold. JP swallowed, a sudden stab of jealousy shooting through him. Quick. Unwelcome.

Had she ever looked at him like that? He thought back, trying to remember. Yes, she had. Once upon a time. But he had been too young, too stupid, too self-absorbed to appreciate it.

And now it was too late. She obviously knew the man she was talking to, obviously liked him. JP watched as she reached out and gently placed a hand on the guy's arm, laughing. There was no mistaking the flare of interest in the man. JP could see it even from this distance, from the way the guy leaned just a little too close, the way his eyes raked over Emily.

JP clenched his jaw and jammed his fists into the front pockets of his jeans. Damn, why hadn't he stopped to think that Emily might be seeing someone? Another thought ripped through him, cold and devastating. Was she married? He hadn't asked, had just assumed she wasn't. No, she couldn't be married. There were no rings on her fingers. And surely she would have told him.

And wouldn't she have told him if she was seeing someone? Of course she would. She would have told him right away, if for no other reason than to just get rid of him. So no, she wasn't married, and she wasn't seeing anyone.

So who was the jerk leaning too close to her, smiling too brightly at her?

JP intended to find out.

He unclenched his jaw and moved forward, doing his best to force what he hoped was a smile on his face. He quickly closed the distance between them, not stopping until he stood next to Emily. He ignored her glare and gently cupped her elbow with his hand, sending a clear message as he placed his body between her and the man she had been talking with.

Her body stiffened under his touch but she didn't pull away. JP took that as a good sign. "Don't forget we're going to breakfast after the game
ma chère.
"

"Breakfast?" Emily raised both brows, her look questioning—and amused. JP pasted a bright smile on his face and moved forward with the line.

"Yes. After the game. With Taylor. She deserves it."

JP had no idea how she would have responded, but he was grateful she didn't have the chance because it was their turn next. Emily pulled her elbow from his grasp, gave him one more unreadable look, then ordered a coffee and a donut. He looked over at her, frowned, then asked the kid to double the order. JP reached for his wallet and blindly pulled a bill out, handing it over.

"I can't break that."

JP glanced down, saw he had pulled a hundred-dollar bill out. Hiding his impatience, he shoved it back into his wallet then pulled out a fifty. The kid shook his head again.

"I can't break that either."

JP nodded at the container in front of the register, a clear plastic tub asking for donations. "Then keep the change as a donation."

"I can't do that if I can't break it."

JP stood there, not sure what to do. He didn't have anything smaller in his wallet. With a sigh, he reached for a credit card but the kid was shaking his head again.

"We only accept cash."

"
Vous plaisantez
." JP muttered under his breath, resisting the urge to squirm under the watchful eyes of the crowd around him. Before he could say anything, Emily pulled a few singles from her back pocket and handed them over.

"I was going to pay."

"Hm." She accepted the flimsy cardboard tray with the coffee and donuts, then reached over and snagged the fifty from his hand. She dropped it into the donation container then gave him a bright smile.

"You just did." And she walked away, leaving him standing there with his mouth open in surprise.

A small lamp in the corner of the room provided the only light, a dim glow that was just enough to hold back complete darkness. Emily wiped her cheek against her shoulder and stared into the gray shadows around her, not really seeing them.

Other shadows claimed her tonight. Shadows she had thought long buried. Five years. Wasn't that enough time to forget? No, not forget. She'd never forget. But she had hoped the pain would lessen.

And it had, right up until she had seen Jean-Pierre again last weekend. Last night. This morning.

What was he doing? Why had he suddenly reappeared in her life, after all this time? Maybe last weekend had been a fluke. A cosmic coincidence wrapped in twisted fate. But not last night. And certainly not this morning.

Why was he suddenly here? Didn't he know what seeing him did to her? Seeing him brought back the memories, brought back the pain. And she thought she had done so well, burying those memories and pain.

But she had only been fooling herself.

She looked down at the closed locket clenched in her right fist then squeezed her eyes together. Maybe she should have listened to Monica, should have thrown the locket out years ago. Her sister didn't understand why she kept it, why she had the picture to begin with. That was something Emily had never really understood. She had thought Monica, as a mother, would understand Emily's need for the keepsake. But her sister didn't understand, had even accused Emily of being morbid.

Emily didn't think of it that way and had never mentioned the locket to her sister again. She kept in tucked away at the bottom of a small jewelry box and took comfort from just knowing it was there.

Tonight had been the first time she had pulled it out, had held it, in a long time. But she didn't open it. She couldn't bring herself to look at it, not yet.

Gabriella Jeane Larocque.

Her daughter.

JP's daughter.

Emily had been four months into the surprise pregnancy when she miscarried. And she had demanded to see the fetus—her baby—after. The tiny being she had felt move inside her. And she had held her daughter in one hand, mourning the loss of life and what-ifs as she stared at the tiny little body.

JP hadn't been with her. He had been on the road, traveling with the Banners. And she hadn't been able to tell him, not right away, not over the phone. By the time she had seen him in person, she had hidden most of the pain behind a superficial numbness. And she knew, even then, that she could have done a better job of telling him. But she had just stood there in his doorway, numbly telling him what had happened, her voice quiet and flat. He had just stood there, silent, shocked, not moving. And when he didn't say anything she had lashed out, wanting him to hurt as much as she did. She couldn't remember exactly what she had said to him, but it was enough. More than enough.

It was the last time she had seen him.

Until last weekend.

Emily wiped at her face one last time, feeling the coolness of the locket against her flush cheek as she did. She brought the small gold oval to her lips and pressed a kiss against it, then pushed herself from the sofa.

It wasn't like her to be so melancholy, to get lost in her memories of the past. She had moved on from that time in her life, had made her own path. One that made her happy.

She tucked the locket into the jewelry box then moved back to the sofa, curling into the corner before dragging the afghan up over her. Maybe her life wasn't flashy or glamorous, but it was her life, and she was happy with it.

She had a job as a market analyst, working for a small company that treated its employees like family. And while she could make more if she moved to a bigger company, she'd lose her valued free time. No, she was much happier where she was, working sane hours during the week with the flexible option to work from home.

No, moving to a bigger company wouldn't be worth it, not when it would mean giving up time to be with Monica and Taylor. Especially Taylor. Her niece was adjusting as well as could be expected, given the situation, but she still needed stability. Considering she rarely saw her father and her mother worked crazy hours, that stability oftentimes came from Emily.

Which is why Emily had chosen to move in with Monica a couple of years ago, right after her sister’s divorce. She had changed the basement of the townhouse into a small getaway, with her own bedroom and living room. Not that she spent much time down here because she was usually upstairs with Monica or Taylor or both of them. But some nights, like tonight, she preferred her privacy.

If the shuffling footsteps she heard above her were any indication, her privacy tonight was coming to an end. She tilted her head, listening, then sighed.

Monica, not Taylor. She sighed again and rubbed her hands over her face, hoping to erase any signs she had been crying. Her sister generally left her alone. The fact that she was coming down here now couldn't be good.

"Do you always sit in the dark when you're down here?"

"Sometimes."

Monica paused at the bottom of the stairs and Emily waited, squinting her eyes in anticipation of the light she was sure Monica would turn on. But there was no flicking of a switch, no sudden glare of bright light. Just the sound of padded steps as Monica made her way over to the sofa, accompanied by the gentle clinking of glass against glass.

Emily looked up, surprised to see the bottle of wine in Monica's hand. She placed two empty glasses on the coffee table, filled them, then handed her one. Emily reached out to take it, watching as her sister lowered herself to the sofa. She curled up in the opposite corner then leaned down to snag an end of the afghan to pull over her feet.

"Taylor said he was there again this morning."

Emily waited for Monica to say something else, for her to get angry or tell her again that she didn't want Taylor near JP. But her sister didn't say anything else, didn't even look at her. Emily took a sip of the chilled wine then nodded.

"He was."

"He didn't say anything?"

"Nope. He invited us to breakfast, but I don't think that's what you meant. No, we didn't go." And Emily could still see the look of shocked disappointment on JP's face when she had told him no. Like he couldn't believe she had turned him down.

Like he had been hurt by the refusal.

Which was absolutely ridiculous. Why would he be disappointed, let alone hurt? She still wasn't sure why he had been there, why he had invited them out. Knowing JP, he probably felt guilty and thought taking her to breakfast would make up for...everything.

No, making up for anything probably hadn't even crossed his mind. They had run into each other last week through sheer coincidence and he probably thought he could pick up where they left off, no strings attached. Why would he expect her to say no now, when she hadn't five years ago? JP wasn't used to hearing "no". That probably explained his expression, his reaction.

Monica tilted her head, causing a lock of her dark blond hair to fall in her eyes. She pushed it back with a grimace, then blew out a sigh of frustration when it just fell into her eyes again.

"I hate this haircut."

"Then why did you let her cut it like that?"

"I don't know. I guess I wanted something different."

Emily watched her sister, noticed the careless shrug that didn't quite match the fleeting expression of loneliness crossing her face. She had been through too much the past few years, the bitter marriage and bitter divorce etching lines in an otherwise smooth face. Emily's heart squeezed and she wished she could take it all away, make the memories and heartaches of the last few years just disappear.

For both of them.

But she couldn't. Neither one of them could. The only thing they could do was put it behind them and move on. Emily worried that her sister was having a harder time of doing that than she was.

"So did he say what he wanted? Why he was there?"

"Who?"

"You know who.
Him
."

Emily took another swallow of wine to hide her smile. "You can say his name, Monica. It's not going to freak me out or anything."

"No, I can't. Not after what he did to you."

"He's not the one who caused the miscarriage." Emily's voice broke on the last word and she closed her eyes, hoping her sister wouldn't notice. But of course she did. She didn't say anything though, just nudged Emily's foot with her own under the warmth of the afghan.

"No. But he wasn't there for you when it happened."

"Monica, he was on the road. There was nothing he could have done. You know that."

"Then he wasn't there for you after it happened."

Emily closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. She took several long breaths then opened her eyes, staring into the glass of wine held between her hands. She brought it to her lips then lowered it without taking a sip. "I didn't really give him the chance."

"What?"

Emily cleared her throat and raised her voice above a whisper. "I said, I didn't really give him the chance."

Monica leaned forward and rested one hand on Emily's knee. A frown marred the features of her face, ferocity flashing in her dark eyes. "You were hurt, in shock. Not thinking clearly. I don't care what you think you did, if he had cared at all about you, he would have been there for you."

"Monica, we had been together for barely six months. It's not like we were in love."

Her sister sat back, watching her over the rim of the glass as she took another sip. Emily didn't like the look in her sister's eyes, was afraid of what she could see, afraid of what she might say. She looked away, intently focused on taking a long swallow of her own wine.

"You loved him."

"Monica—"

"Don't deny it. You know it. I know it. I just wonder if he knew it."

"No. I mean, there was nothing to know. And whatever it was, it wasn't love. We were both too young. We barely knew each other."

"You were having his baby!"

"Because of a damned broken condom. That was all. That doesn't mean I was in love." Emily drained the wine, barely tasting it. She didn't want to be having this conversation with Monica. She didn't want to be having this conversation with anyone. It had taken her too long to get over the pain and heartache from the miscarriage.

And from losing JP.

God, she had been too young, too naïve, too sheltered. Too everything. She had been twenty-one, full of excitement after getting her degree in mathematics, coming into her own. And giddy after catching the interest of one Jean-Pierre Larocque.

Foolish. That's what she had been: foolish. Apparently she still was.

So why was JP suddenly back in the picture? She didn't know, and she was afraid to find out, afraid of opening old wounds and reliving old memories best left forgotten.

Too late for that.

Emily leaned over and grabbed the bottle of wine from the coffee table then refilled her glass. Monica was watching her, her expression carefully blank despite the curiosity in her stormy eyes. Emily didn't bother looking at her, hoping that maybe, if she ignored her sister long enough, Monica would drop the subject and leave her alone.

"What time is Taylor's game tomorrow?"

The question caught Emily off-guard. She glanced over at Monica, not bothering to hide her surprise. "It starts at seven, but she needs to be there by six."

Monica winced then finished the last of the wine in her glass. She nodded then stood, tossing the end of the afghan onto Emily's feet. "I'll take her, you can sleep in tomorrow."

"But—"

"No buts. I haven't been to one of her games yet this year, it's about time I go." Monica stopped long enough to place a comforting hand on Emily's shoulder, then walked away. Emily listened as the sound of her footsteps disappeared, wondering what that had been about.

She sighed and drew her knees tight against her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Emily knew exactly what it had been about and it was more than just wanting to see Taylor play.

Monica was worried that JP would be there. Again. And she didn't want Emily seeing him.

She should be grateful to her sister. Emily knew that, just as she knew Taylor would be more than excited that her mom was finally going to a game—even if it meant Emily would miss it.

Part of her wondered if the disappointment that squeezed her chest was because she'd be missing Taylor's game—or missing a chance of seeing JP again.